Second Chances
by BittyAB18
Summary: Clarke had always planned on being a doctor, but plans have a habit of changing, especially when you get pregnant at eighteen. Five years later, Clarke is a single mom who comes face to face with the man who she had a one night stand with. Will this family get a second chance at happiness? Bellarke & Charlotte. Octavia/Lincoln. Rated M for future chapters & for Bellamy's mouth.
1. Chapter 1

Second Chances

Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything familiar.**

**Author's Note: There is some slight age adjustments in this story. Technically in the book/show, Clarke is older than Octavia, but younger than Bellamy. In this story, Clarke is younger than Octavia and Bellamy, who are half-siblings with different Moms. The first chapter begins with 18 year old Clarke, but then will transition to 23 year old Clarke. Octavia will be 26, and Bellamy will be 28. Lincoln will be 29, since he's definitely older than Bellamy in the show. Since Lincoln has no last name, I'm going to make it Whittle, since the actor is Ricky Whittle. **

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><p>Clarke Griffin had plans. She was going to be a doctor. She had saw how great of a doctor her mother was-people had always respected Abby Griffin. Her dad had always told her that she could go places just like her mom. Her dad was no slouch, either, though. She looked up to him, because he was an engineer and so, so wise. She was just never as good at math and understanding machinery as her father was, so she went with science and medicine. But, Clarke's secret passion was art. The walls of her room were covered in artwork throughout her life, and they'd steadily gotten better over the years from when she first picked up a crayon at two.<p>

Plans, though, have a habit of changing. It was _not _part of the plan for her dad to get in a car accident when she was sixteen years old and to die right around the end of her sophomore year of high school. It wasn't part of the plan for her best friend in all the world to drop her the second that a pretty girl flashed him a smile and opened her legs for him during her junior year of high school. She and Wells had never recovered, even after Monroe had dumped him for the quarterback, deciding she was over dating the class president. She had lost too much in those two years-two very important people-that she was sure that she could not survive another loss.

Clarke practically ran from the high school to the CVS that was halfway between the school and her house, and she breathlessly wandered the aisles, gathering an assortment of items from the shelves. She avoided _that_ aisle until the end, though. She first made her way up the makeup aisle, needed a new brown mascara, because the one she hardly ever used had finally dried out. Oh, and a new cherry lip balm, because it smelled and tasted good, and it was the extent of her daily makeup wear. She then wandered down the haircare aisle, picking up another bottle of her favorite shampoo and conditioner that helped manage her messy blond curls. She stuck both bottles into the little basket that held the mascara and lip balm. She then grabbed a new face wash and moisturizer. Then a _Cosmo_ and a bag of chocolate chewy candy. Oh, and a bag of Doritos. And a bottle of Coke. A new toothbrush, because when was the last time she'd gotten a new toothbrush? Finally, _finally_, she made her way down _that_ aisle. She grabbed a small box of tampons and some pantyliners. They she grabbed more out of hope that she was wrong.

She found herself in front of the family planning section. She stared woefully at the rows of condoms. It was too late for them to do her any good now. She swallowed as her gaze finally traced over the boxes of pregnancy tests. She whimpered as she reached out to grab one. She noticed her hand was shaking, but she couldn't put this off any longer. She hadn't gotten her period for two months, and she was really just buying the box for confirmation. She'd never been more relieved in her life that her parents had good paying jobs that resulted in them having a big house with the attic set up in a suite for her, complete with its own bathroom. She had been able to keep the last month and a half of early morning, mid-afternoon, and middle of the night vomiting and nausea to herself without her mother overhearing. She grabbed a box, staring at it. It said that there were three tests in the box, and the smiling woman holding up what she assumed was a positive pregnancy test made her want to hurl again. She let out a breath and dropped the box into her basket. What they really needed was a box with a picture of a teen girl with blond curls and sea green eyes looking like the floor was falling out beneath her as she held up a positive pregnancy test on the box. That was the stuff of nightmares and a hell of a lot better deterrent to underage, unprotected sex.

Clarke made her way to the self-checkout section, and she glanced around, making sure that there was no one who actually knew her around. She quickly scanned the CVS keychain card after having pressed the _English_ button on the screen. She immediately scanned the box for the pregnancy test before shoving it into the bottom of a plastic bag. She proceeded with scanning the rest of the items in her basket, using them as a tool to hide the box from anyone's vision. She ran out of the store after swiping her debit card, shoving the receipt into the bag. She made her way home, surprised that her mother's car was parked in the driveway. She clutched her purchases against her chest, swallowing hard. She walked inside of the house, and she heard the clinking sounds coming from the kitchen.

"Clarke, honey, is that you?" Her mother called out, and Abby Griffin came out of the kitchen, a apron covering her khaki slacks and white blouse, a glass of red wine in her hand. "You're home a late today. What do you have there?" She said, nodding towards the bag in Clarke's hands.

"Um," Clarke cleared her throat when it came out husky and scratchy. "Tampons and the like." Her mother nodded, sympathetically. "What are you doing home? You're not usually home this early."

"I'm making dinner. There's someone I would like you to meet." She nodded her head, her blond curls bouncing. She looked towards the stairs that led to the second floor. "Oh, right, go ahead. Dinner's at five-thirty." Clarke ran up the steps to the second floor. She kept going, rushing up the steps to the third floor to her room.

She had moved from her bedroom on the second floor beside her parent's bedroom when she had turned thirteen. As a present for becoming a teenager, and for getting her period for the first time, her parents had surprised her with a renovated attic bedroom when she came home from camp at the end of the summer before eighth grade. Her birthday (and coincidentally her first time getting her period-worst thirteenth birthday _ever_) had been six months prior, so Clarke was shocked when her parents guided her to the attic rather than her bedroom after they arrived at home. One half of the room had a giant canopy bed, an armoire, a dresser, and a vanity table with a padded seat. The other half of the room had a couch, a big screen TV, a bookcase, and plenty of natural lighting for her artwork. Her easel was set up by the window, and she had a ton of art supplies, paints, chalk, charcoal, pastels, crayons, pencils, and markers organized neatly on a table by the easel, along with another table covered in canvas and an assortment of paper of various sizes. Her palette lying on the table with her paints from when she had left it there after washing away the paint the night before. She dropped the back on her bed, upending it and quickly grabbing the pregnancy test box. She rushed into the en suite bathroom that had also been installed in the attic for her, as well.

After peeing on the three sticks and leaving them on her counter, Clarke had paced in front of her bed, her phone gripped in her hand. She couldn't be in the same room as the tests while she waited for the five minute timer she had set up was counting down. Her phone buzzed in her hand, and she let out a deep breath that she'd been holding for most of those last five minutes. She slowly made her way into the bathroom to look at the tests. Her vision suddenly sported black spots, and she felt like she couldn't breathe. She dropped onto the closed toilet seat, trying to catch her breath, her stomach rolling, not from morning sickness, but instead because she felt like her entire world was crashing down around her. After a few gasps, her fingers going white from the grip she had on the counter beside her and her phone (if she could think about anything other than the tests lying on the counter a few inches away, she'd be worried that her grip my crack her phone). Finally, her vision cleared, and she was able to regain her breath, only to have it all go down the shitter again, because she started sobbing.

Clarke heard her mother singing along with Ella Fitzgerald that was playing softly on the radio in the kitchen. She heard the steady tapping of a knife meeting a cutting board. She held one of the positive pregnancy tests in her hand, and she was wiping at her wet cheeks with the other. She stepped into the kitchen. "Mom." Her voice cracked, and Abby looked up from where she was cutting carrots for whatever it was that she was making for dinner that night. She set the knife aside when she saw the guilt-stricken, devastated look that Clarke was probably sporting on her face.

"Clarke, what's wrong?" Clarke began crying again as she held out the pregnancy test towards her mother. It took Abby by surprise, she was sure, and her mother only hesitated for a moment before her arms were enveloping her sobbing, scared eighteen year old daughter. "Shh, honey. It's okay. It's gonna be okay." She said over and over, as the two of them hugged each other tightly. Abby rubbed Clarke's back, and she just buried her face more deeply into the crook of her mother's neck.

They say that bad things come in threes, and over the last three years, Clarke had endured some pretty messed up things. The death of her father. The betrayal of her best friend. And, now, the explosion of her life plans. Fuck, high school totally sucked.

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><p>Clarke pulled her long, unkempt blond curls into a loose ponytail at the back of her head. She pulled the t-shirt with the preschool logo where she worked on over her plain white cotton bra. The shirt was covered in dried paint smudges from little chubby fingers that had never really came out, but she was fine with it. She tugged the shirt down over her jeans, turning and sucking in her stomach as she admired herself in the mirror. Her stomach had previously flat from running track, taking yoga, and being generally healthy and slender as a teen, but now there was a permanent, slightly rounded bulge, along with the white creases in her skin from the unnatural stretching of her skin at such a young age. The stretch marks were battle scars of the scariest forty weeks of her life, but in the end, they'd been worth it, because after fourteen hours of intense pain and profuse sweating, a pink, wailing baby girl had been placed in her arms. Clarke had fallen in love with her baby girl at first sight, and she had only grown more in love with her little baby over the last four years.<p>

She exited her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. She made her way into the second smaller bedroom in her apartment, smiling when she saw the sleeping form of her four-year old daughter, tangled up in the Minnie Mouse sheets on her first big girl bed. She had just made the transition from the crib to twin bed, and she was so excited to go into school today to tell all of her friends all about it. Clarke crouched down next to the bed, running a hand through the little girl's silky light brown hair. "Lottie," she cooed, smiling at her daughter's resistance of getting up in the morning. Clarke had always been an early riser, ready to go the second her alarm went off (minus the first three months and the final three months of her pregnancy, because she was exhausted all of the time during those six months). Lottie, on the other hand, was difficult to wake in the morning. It was always a big production, so Clarke made sure to get completely ready before waking the little one in the morning. They'd been late on a few occasions, because of Lottie's difficulty with waking. Clarke suspected that the little girl had inherited her ability to sleep like the dead from her father. She swallowed, because the girl's father had no involvement in her precious daughter's life. She didn't like thinking about the conception of her child and the girl's father.

"Mmmm, no." Lottie whined, making Clarke smile as she began pressing kisses to her daughter's pink cheeks. She began tickling the little girl's tummy, making Lottie squirm. Finally, she opened her eyes, which locked with her mother's. Clarke gasped, because in the more recent months, they'd transitioned more into the eyes of the man who supplied half of her daughter's genetics. Where did her sweet baby girl's eyes go? They'd been a light hazel for most of her younger years, but they'd recently darkened considerably to a richer light brown color. Her eyes were also deep, soulful, and showed a wiseness that was not common on such a young face. The slightly almond shape were so unlike Clarke's, as well. Finally, Lottie sat up, and Clarke pulled the little girl into her embrace. The last five years since Clarke had discovered that she was pregnant were so difficult for her, but she wouldn't trade them in order to get her childhood plans back in place. She had new plans, now. New dreams.

"It's time to get ready for school, Sweets. Do you want to pick out your outfit today?" The little girl nodded. "Okay, why don't you do that, and I'll go start on your breakfast, okay? How does waffles sound?"

"With maple?" Clarke smiled, nodding. Lottie had difficulty with saying syrup, so she just called it maple instead. Clarke let the little girl climb out of bed, watching her walk over to the makeshift dresser that Clarke had set up for her. She had bought one of those nine-shelf bookshelves and had folded all of Lottie's clothing and put them in the shelves. The underwear and little socks were balled up and put inside of individual fabric baskets, as was all of her soft hair ties that looked like mini-scrunchies, bows, and assorted hair accessories. "Go, Mommy!" Lottie shooed her away, making Clarke chuckle. Her daughter was so independent, so she exited the bedroom and made her way to the kitchen.

While Clarke toasted four frozen waffles in the toaster, she poured some orange juice into her daughter's sippy cup and quickly sliced up an apple for the two of them to share. She then made her way back into her daughter's room to check on Lottie. She smiled at the outfit that the little girl had set out for herself. "Wow, Lottie! That's a pretty outfit." The little girl had laid out a yellow t-shirt with a red ladybug on it, a pair of black and purple striped stretch pants, her orange socks, and her green sneakers. Oh, her rainbow headband, which would tie the whole outfit together. Clarke guided the little girl into the bathroom, helping her onto the toilet, before making her way back into Lottie's room to grab some socks, underwear, and a undershirt for the little girl to wear. She then helped the little girl flush the toilet and wash her hands before bringing her to the kitchen. She set Lottie up at the table, munching at her two waffle slices with maple syrup.

Clarke, meanwhile, set about preparing them both lunches. They both got jelly and apple butter sandwiches (due to a peanut allergy in Lottie's classroom, no peanut butter was allowed), pretzels, and half an apple sliced up for the each of them. She put a juice box in the lunch box with Lottie's lunch, and filled her water bottle for her own. After the lunch was prepared, she quickly finished her own waffles before getting Lottie cleaned up. Her mornings were usually mundane and slow, but Clarke loved the time she got to spend with Lottie before she dropped the little girl off in her classroom and headed to the art room where she ran art classes all day with the children from the two-year-old classes to the kindergarteners.

After dressing Lottie and getting both of their teeth brushed, Clarke guided her daughter out of the apartment, carrying her bag over one arm, Lottie's _Beauty and the Beast_ themed backpack in her hand, and Lottie's hand in the other. They were running a little late this morning, so Clarke knew that they'd be rushing to get into their classrooms on time. Traffic was a bitch, and Clarke had to take calming breaths, singing along with the children's music blasting from her speakers, trying to keep from screaming at the asshole on a motorcycle who cut her off. They finally arrived on time, with Clarke having to park ridiculously far away, because the said motorcycle asshole had parked in _her_ spot (the one labeled for the _art teacher_ at the private preschool she worked at). She rushed into the building, waving at the woman behind front desk in the office. She scooped Lottie up in her arms, rushing towards Lottie's classroom. She blew out a breath when she skidded to a stop at the room. She set Lottie down and walked into the room.

"Hey, Clarke." Miss Lacey, Lottie's teacher, said from where she was talking to a couple with a little boy in front of them. The little boy had tanned skin like his father, or at least Clarke assumed it was his father. The boy's mother was holding his chubby hand in hers, smiling down at him, her dark hair a curtain dangling over her shoulder.

"Hi, Lacey." She smiled down at Lottie. "Say hi, Sweets."

"Hi, Miss Lacey!" Lottie grinned at her teacher, rushing over to wrap her arms around her teacher's middle. Lacey ran a hand down the back of Lottie's head.

"Clarke, this is Mr. and Mrs. Whittle. Lottie, this handsome little guy is Charlie." Clarke came over, extending her hand to the Whittles, while Lottie stared down Charlie, her eyes narrowed as she took him in. Mrs. Whittle was gorgeous, with beautiful greenish-hazel eyes and long dark hair. Mr. Whittle was a very attractive man, and Clarke saw the badge on his belt, indicating that he was a police officer.

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Clarke Griffin, and I'm the art teacher here."

"Octavia," Mrs. Whittle said with a smile as she shook Clarke's hand. "My husband is Lincoln."

"Nice to meet both of you. It's also nice to meet you, Charlie. Sweets, say hi to Charlie." Lottie buried her face into her mother's side, sneaking glances at the little boy in front of her. She waved at the Whittles before running off to play with her friends. Clarke frowned, following her daughter's path.

"Sorry, she's shy. I'm trying to break her out of her shell, but she's always been very independent and slow to warm up to new people. She must get that from her father," Clarke said, biting her bottom lip before looking back at the couple in front of her.

"It's no problem," Lincoln's voice was deep, but warm.

"I'm used to it. Sounds like my brother. He's a total softie deep down, but he acts like a growling grizzly bear." Clarke chuckled with Octavia. "You'll meet him eventually. He's actually getting set up in the main office right now as being one of the people who's approved to pick Charlie up from school in the event of an emergency." Clarke smiled before glancing above the couple's head to see the time on the clock.

"Well, I hate to be rude, but I've got to go get my classroom set up before my first class of the day. It was nice to meet both of you." Clarke smiled at the two of them before waving goodbye. She made her way over to Lottie, pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. "Bye-bye, Lottie. See you in a bit." Clarke waved at the adults one last time before rushing to her classroom.


	2. Chapter 2

Second Chances

Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything familiar.**

**Author's Note: This is going to be a slow burn for Bellarke, which I know many of you are fans of, as this is what we found in love with about the characters originally. That being said, there will be some **_**non**_**-Bellarke moments throughout this fic, so please don't be mad at me. Yes, when I say **_**non**_**-Bellarke, I mean that there may or may not be some non-Bellarke smuttiness. Let's be honest here, Bellamy's not exactly the type to keep it in his pants, and damn if Clarke doesn't need to get laid sometime soon. lol**

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><p>Clarke had an easier time getting Lottie school for the rest of the week, and it wasn't until Friday that she came face to face with Octavia Whittle again. The two of them met at the front doors of the school as they were guiding their children inside. "Clarke, right?" Octavia said with a smile, bending down to pick Charlie up in her arms as she paused by the building doors. Clarke nodded at the woman.<p>

"Yes, Mrs. Wh-Octavia," She quickly corrected herself with the brunette shot her a look that said _please don't_. "Hi, Charlie." She smiled down at Lottie. "Look, it's your friend, Charlie, Sweets."

"Hi," Lottie said shyly to the little boy. Charlie grinned and waved back. He definitely took after his mother, who seemed to know everyone in his new school after only having been there for a week.

"You know I just realized something," Clarke said as the two mothers entered the building with their children. "Our kids' names. Charlie and Lottie. Lottie is short for Charlotte. I considered calling her Charlie, but I settled for Lottie instead."

"Ha! That's so funny. Well, I guess it is evidence that great minds think alike." Octavia winked. She studied Clarke, her head cocking to the side. "Would Lottie's dad be willing to let you out for a night? You look like you could use a drink." Clarke bit her lip, letting out breath, looking at the little girl who was chattering to herself as she hugged her stuffed teddy bear. Thank goodness she was distracted in that moment.

"Actually, Lottie's dad isn't really a part of the picture." Octavia's eyes widened.

"Oh, wow, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to-" She shook her head, her long dark ponytail tossing around her head like the tail of a horse. "I-are you doing this all by yourself?"

"Yeah, but I've got help. My mom and step-dad are really great." She gave Octavia a tight smile. "They watch her sometimes, but on those nights that she has a sleepover at their place, I don't know what to do with myself, because it's so weird not having her around, you know? So I spend a few hours cleaning the apartment before I'm over at their place, watching Disney movies and eating popcorn with the three of them." She shrugged.

"Well, when's the next time you can get them to sit for you? I demand that you and I go out for a drink. Lincoln and I just moved back to town, and I feel like I know no one anymore." Octavia gave her a look that indicated that she wasn't taking no for an answer, so Clarke nodded her head.

"I'll call them today on my break, and I'll let you know."

"Oh, fabulous." Octavia pulled a phone out of her pocket. "Number, please?" Clarke gave the brunette her number, and a few moments later, her pocket buzzed indicating she got a text. "There you are. Now you can text me later. I'm absolutely bored at my new job." She rolled her eyes. "I'll look for any excuse to not do my work." Clarke chuckled.

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><p>Clarke was exhausted at the end of the day, massaging the back of her neck, trying to release the tension she found there. She yawned as she studied herself in the bathroom mirror before she went to collect Lottie. She needed a night to relax on the couch in her pajamas with her snuggle bug telling her about her school day. She rolled her shoulders before she grimaced at her appearance. She had a swipe of red paint on her neck that she didn't realize she had gotten at some point, but when she spent the day chasing after toddlers running around with wet paintbrushes, she figured there were going to be times when she got covered in paint and didn't realize it. Her fingers itched to paint herself, but she hadn't had time to do that lately. She had some dark circles under her eyes. She sighed, tucking a loose blond curl behind her ear. Yeah, she was a real looker today.<p>

She made her way out of the bathroom and headed towards the classroom to grab Lottie. She happened to be walking up at the same time as Octavia. "You never texted me!" The brunette said, pointing at her with a stern expression on her face. "Shit, you look like you need a nap, not a drink." Clarke chuckled, shaking her head.

"My mom said she and my step-dad would take Lottie tonight, but I'm not sure I have the energy to hit the bar. Actually, I'd probably get wasted on just one glass of wine. I might not be much fun."

"Oh, we're going tonight. Call your mom and tell her you'll be dropping Lottie off by six tonight. I'm coming over once I get Charlie settled at home with Lincoln. Text me your address." Clarke almost had whiplash at the orders that Octavia barked at her, and ordinarily, she'd balk at such commands, but Octavia's bubbliness was infectious, and Clarke suddenly felt like she _wanted_ to have a conversation with someone other than her mom, step-father, Lottie, toddlers, and the adults that revolved around Lottie's well-being. Oh, and the nice lady whom she called regularly at Discover who dealt with her annoying questions about her credit.

"Fine," Clarke said in a sarcastically resigned voice, but there was a smile on her face. "I warn you, I don't think I have anything bar worthy."

"No problem, because _I do_." Clarke was suddenly fearful of what she should expect.

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><p>"Octavia Whittle, I cannot wear this." Clarke stared at the slinky black dress that was dangling on the hanger that Octavia had thrown over her arm. The woman in question was dressed in a tight pink dress that accented her skin beautifully. She wore barely any makeup, and the brunette looked stunning. Clarke, since she had Lottie, definitely needed a little more to look put together. It was so different from how she was as a teen. She missed her fresh-faced youth. Shit, now she sounded like she was forty-seven, not twenty-three.<p>

"Yes, you can. It'll make your boobs look fierce." Clarke shot her new friend a look. "What? I can't appreciate your rack? You've got nice ta-tas, missy." She shook her head at Octavia. This chick was nuts, but she couldn't help but really like her. With Octavia's help, she was able to tug the dress over her frame and to somehow tame her boobs into the dress. She stood in front of the mirror and shook her head. "Dude, if I weren't married to that luscious wall of man-meat that is Lincoln, and, you know, I was into the ladies, I'd totally tap that." Clarke chuckled.

"You're insane, Octavia, but thank you." She looked over at the brunette. "God, how can you possibly look like that all the time? You're insanely pretty." Octavia threw her brown hair over shoulders with a smug grin on her face. The smile was eerily familiar, and Clarke quickly averted her gaze, instead looking at herself in the mirror once more.

"Clarke, I'd kill for your hair." Octavia said as she ran her hands through the blond curls. "I love curls. My hair doesn't hold a curl for anything."

"Yeah, well, they're not that fun when they get knotted up."

"Oh, I believe it." Octavia giggled. "Okay, let me do your makeup." She sat Clarke down on the bed and began painting a light amount of makeup on her face. When she finally let the blond up, Clarke could hardly recognize herself. God, Octavia was a miracle worker. She almost looked like a normal early-twenties girl without any worries aside from finding a good job and finishing up her college degree.

The two women arrived at a bar, with Octavia chattering that her brother's friends own the place, and they make their own beer and illegal moonshine that only a select group of people know about (to keep from getting in trouble for brewing and selling it illegally). Clarke winced at the idea of drinking moonshine, but stated her excitement at trying some of their beer. The two of them were able to bypass a long line of people with just a nod from the bouncer, who sported a pinned nametag on his shirt that read "Miller."

"Oi! You just missed your brother," an Asian man called out from behind the bar where he was wiping down a glass with a towel. Octavia rolled her eyes at Clarke.

"I wasn't looking for him, Monty.I just wanted to hit the bar with my new friend, Clarke." Clarke cocked an eyebrow at Octavia.

"I thought you didn't know many people in town?"

"Okay, so maybe I was fibbing. I just don't have a lot of female friends. My brother is barely two years older, so I spent a lot of time with his friends. Oddly, Lincoln was his friend first." That made the blond's eyes widen. "Yeah, he wasn't too happy about the fact that Lincoln and I hooked up, but, dude, have you seen his fingers? I wasn't going to pass up the chance to let those bad boys play me like a fiddle." Clarke laughed, because Octavia had quite the dirty mouth.

"I've never met a girl like you, Octavia." She told the older woman, sitting down at the bar next to her new friend. "Thanks for dragging me out tonight. It's weird, you know?"

"I'm sure. It's been you and Lottie for so long." Octavia smiled, playing with the giant diamond and it's matching wedding band on her hand. "It takes my breath away how much I miss being around Lincoln and Charlie, even if it is for a few hours. You're really doing this all on your own?"

"Yeah, I am." Clarke watched as Monty set two beers in front of them and two glasses of a clear liquid in front of them. The glasses of the clear liquid were about half the size of the beers, and her eyebrows rose as she smelled the pungent scent coming from them. Monty held a finger to his lips, grinning at her, before he went down the bar to another customer to fill his shot glass.

"Bottoms up, Clarke." Octavia said, lifting the clear glass and holding it out to the blond to toast. Clarke lifted the drink, tapping it against Octavia's before she put it to her lips. She coughed as the liquid poured down her throat. It burned like hell, way worse than any tequila or vodka or whiskey, or, damn it, _any_ liquor that had ever graced her lips. "Your face is so cute." Octavia snapped a picture on her phone of Clarke with her nose scrunched, her eyes squished tightly, and her lips pursed with the half-empty moonshine glass in her hands. Clarke made a gagging sound and wiped at her tongue with her fingers.

"Shit." She shook her head. "That was…"

"Wait for it…" Octavia said, and two seconds later, Clarke's tongue turned numb, and she felt a warmth burn throughout her body. Yeah, she felt good.

"Oh, that's not too bad." Octavia giggled, downing the last of her moonshine before turning to the beer. Clarke followed suit, enjoying the burn of the moonshine a tad more than she did the last time.

"Girls' night out with my new gal pal, Clarke. Hashtag-girls'-night. Hashtag-JM's. Hashtag-moonshine-burn." Octavia said, as she typed on her phone. "Yup, that's tweeted." Clarke looked over Octavia's shoulder at what she tweeted. She groaned when she saw the picture of herself. She was unrecognizable, but it was not flattering. Thank goodness she didn't have a Twitter.

"Oh, God. Delete that." Clarke complained.

"Nope, I got fifteen favorites already. Oh, and three retweets. See," she showed Clarke the phone. There was a tweet response to Octavia's tweet from someone labeled as TheKingBB, who tweeted to Octavia that "the blondie chick can't hang if she can't drink the moonshine."

"Rude. Monty, another round for Octavia and I!" She called out to the Asian man. He grinned, coming over with a dark pitcher, pouring the liquid into the glasses again. "Don't be stingy now." She nodded at him, and he filled her glass about three-quarters of the way full.

"You're gonna be so drunk now." Octavia said, raising her phone to take a picture of the nearly full glass of moonshine.

"Tell that King person, I said bring it on." Clarke told her, making Octavia laugh. She was aware that Octavia was snapping multiple pictures of her as she downed the drink, her face blocked by the glass and her head tipped back so her blond curls fell down her back like a waterfall. She scrunched her nose and shook her head when it was done, pressing her hand to her lips to hide her laugh.

"Damn, Clarke." Octavia laughed. "My brother is gonna shit." She joked as she typed into the phone. "At-The-King-B-B, Clarke says bring it on, bitch. Hashtag-downing-moonshine. Hashtag-brave-bitch. Hashtag-beast." Clarke smiled as she saw Octavia post the series of pictures. At the end, there's the picture of her pressing her hand to her mouth as she half-grimaced, half-laughed. She blew out a breath, because she was still reliving that burn over again. Her belly was burning and warm, and she definitely felt the effects of the booze. "Oh, my brother says, touche, Princess."

Clarke sobered immediately, because it brought her back to her father, who used to call her his princess, and to Lottie's father, who had called her a princess when she gave him a snarky response the night that they'd met and hooked up for the first time. She smiled at Octavia, taking a sip of the beer. "No more, Monty." She said, shaking her head as he tried to pour more into her cup. "I've got a four year old to take care of in the morning."

"Please tell me you're just 'sitting for some kid tomorrow, and not a mom. Octavia's the only one of us with a kid. It was weird when she got knocked up. She was everyone's baby sister, and then Lincoln got her preggers." Clarke laughed at the scoff and eye roll coming from her friend beside her.

"Yeah, I'm a mom."

"My brother freaked when I told him that I was pregnant and moving in with Lincoln. He and I had been together for three years at that point, and I was finishing up my senior year of college. He almost broke his hand getting into a fist fight with Linc, but in the end, Lincoln held him down and told him that he wanted to marry me, so he got over it." Octavia shrugged her shoulders.

"I still can't believe you're a mom. You're so young." Monty shook his head. Clarke raised her eyebrows at him. It wasn't like they were much older than her. Actually, Octavia looked like she was even younger than Clarke was, but that might be a combination of good genes and the loving support of good friends, family, and a wonderful husband.

"Dude, Monty. Don't be an asshole. Clarke's my age, right? Twenty-five? Twenty-six?" Octavia glared at Monty.

"Actually, I'm twenty-three. Or, rather, I will be on February first. Few more weeks." Clarke said, taking a sip of her beer. She felt Octavia's shocked eyes on her. She let out a breath. "I got pregnant in February of my senior year of high school. My mom had to throw a big stink to keep the school administration from keeping me out of graduation, because I'd begun to show in May. I was super tiny in high school, so even at three months, I was sporting a pretty noticeable baby bump. So, by four months I was already huge."

"Oh, wow. I mean, my brother freaked out about me being too young when I wasn't even a senior in college and only twenty-one. I can't imagine being eighteen." Clarke nodded her head, taking another sip of her beer. "That's awesome that you had your mom there for you."

"Yeah, she's been great." Monty moved away to serve a big crowd of college students, checking each one's id.

"So, what about Lottie's dad?" Octavia brought Clarke's attention back to her. She chewed on her bottom lip, trying to figure out how she could talk about him without making herself out to be a slut. She thought back to the night that she met Lottie's dad.

* * *

><p><em>Clarke slipped into the art show unnoticed. The local gallery was hosting the university's art program's winter show, in which the artists were doing their own spin on famous Impressionist pieces. She'd seen the flyers the last time she'd visited the gallery, and she was looking forward to seeing what the students did with Monet, Degas, Renoir, Geist, and Clausell, to name a few. She glanced around the room at all of the people milling about: there were a lot of older adults, the art snobs of the Georgetown and other high society areas. Well, Clarke was technically the spawn of two of those high society dwellers, but their family was at least humble. The rest of the crowd was made up of college students; there for extra credit, perhaps, or maybe supporting a friend? There were probably a few like-minded individuals who were there for the art, as she was. <em>

_She made her way farther into the gallery, away from the rest of the crowd. She walked to a painting, studying it with her head cocked to the side. When she was finished, she moved onto the next painting. It was there that he approached her. She hadn't seen him until he was right there in her peripheral, on her left side. He was tall, much taller than she, slender, but still muscular. He was dark, not only the dark suit on his body, but his hair, and even his skin-it was the dead of winter, yet his skin was sun-kissed in appearance. She didn't dare turn to look at him, but instead, she focused on the painting in front of her. The artist's interpretation of _Water Lilies, Evening Effect_ by Monet. The blue water of the original was a bright orange, the lily pads a hot pink that almost glaringly clashed with the orange, and the lilies themselves painted a cool navy blue. "It's...something," he said. His voice was deep, rich, alluring. It folded around her like chocolate, and she caught herself before she visibly shivered at the sound of it. She smiled when his words sunk in._

"_It's hideous." Clarke said, shrugging her shoulders. Her eyes widened when she realized what she said, and her gaze flitted to the name placard hung on the wall beside the painting. Chiffon Gavalari. Well, he didn't look like a Chiffon, so she was probably safe. His chuckle was even more intoxicating than the buttery sound of his voice. She glanced over at him, seeing the smile on his face as he shook his head._

"_Horrific? Dare I say cringe-worthy?" He said, turning to look at her. Her blue-green eyes met his dark brown ones, hidden behind a slightly almond shape. He had freckles painted across his cheeks and nose, and there was a lazy smirk on his face. He knew he was attractive, and he used that fact to his advantage. The cool confidence exuded from him in waves, but there was something there, though, just under the surface, a slight break in his facade. Perhaps it was the slight tension in his neck and shoulders, or maybe it was the way that he carefully opened and closed his fists in a non-threatening, but still not all entirely friendly manner. He appeared to be an old soul, a wounded one that, the rage of past hurts swirling beneath the surface of his smug, devil-may-care attitude. She gave him a slight nod of her head. She turned back to the painting. "What's your least favorite part? I can't exactly decide. Perhaps it's the nauseating colors." She shook her head in response to his question._

"_No, the part I like the least is the mistake that the artist tried to cover up with the use of a lot of bright paint." She pointed to the upper left corner. "See there, there is a smudge of a light blue in the upper corner. It's as if she started to fill in the painting when she realized her other huge mistake." She then moved the direction of her point to the lower left corner. You can see the faint outline the painted outer edges of an extra lily pad. To the untrained eye, it would be unnoticeable, but to a Monet fan, it would be astronomical. The orange paint there is a whitish-green shade in an ovalish shape, not filled in. It is my belief that the artist was originally going to expressly replicate the original, but, following her mistake, she improvised by painting the canvas bright, flashy colors to distract from her mistakes." She turned back to the painting. "It's a shame, because it is quite good when you look beyond the ugliness." _

_The man, because that was exactly what he was, a _man_, narrowed his eyes and nodded his head. "Monet's your favorite?"_

"_No, actually, I'm torn between Degas and Renoir, but Monet is certainly at the top of the list, as well."_

"_Two impressionists and a realist...hmmm." He tapped his finger against his chin._

"_Actually, Degas is typically considered to be an impressionist just as the others did, but he preferred the term realist instead." He chuckled, shaking his head a little._

"_I like you…" He hesitated, and she knew that he was waiting for her to tell him her name. She just gave him a smile that had rivaled his earlier._

"_It was nice meeting you." She wiggled the fingers of her left hand at him as she wandered away, feeling his gaze on her as she headed across the room to look at the collection of Geist paintings. _

* * *

><p>"Lottie's dad," Clarke said, taking another sip of her beer before looking over at Octavia. "I met him at a college art show." She told her new friend, turning back to her beer. She picked up the glass and swirled around it.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Second Chances

Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything familiar.**

**Author's Note: So, we got the first taste of Bellamy, without really meeting Bellamy. I have no plans to get Bellamy and Clarke in the same room yet. Not for a few more chapters. Sorry, guys. Although, you get to conclusion of the night Bellamy and Clarke met. Also, I want to make it clear for everyone. Clarke is giving Octavia the barest of details. She's not relaying the story completely to her. Therefore, she never once says his name to Octavia. The reveal of Octavia's connection to Bellamy is not going to take place for a few more chapters.**

**I also wanted to let you know I made a couple of changes in the last chapter. I added a sentence that made it clear that when Clarke graduate in June of her senior year of high school, she was four months pregnant, and that she'd started showing at 3 months (May), just so you guys weren't confused about the math there.**

**The second correction I made was that Octavia was only 21 when she got pregnant and it was before she started her senior year of college. She actually got pregnant around late June/early July the same year that Clarke got pregnant (2010).**

**So, that means they got pregnant about fourish months apart, and their babies were born about four months apart. Lottie was born on November 5, 2010. Charlie was born on March 30, 2011. This story takes place in 2015, so Lottie just turned four, and Charlie will be turning four in upcoming chapters.**

* * *

><p>"An art show? That, I wasn't expecting." Octavia said, waving at Monty. The Asian man nodded at her, indicating that he'd be there soon enough, and he returned to making a drink for a some coed who squeezed her boobs together with her upper arms, probably in the hopes that she'd get her drink for free. Octavia must have agreed with Clarke's assumption, because she tsked under her breath and shook her head. "He's not going to give her the drink for free. He might try to sleep with her, but definitely not give her the drink for free." Clarke chuckled at her.<p>

"Yeah, I wasn't expecting it-_him_-either. I was eighteen, Octavia. It was a Saturday night, and it was literally the day before Valentine's Day. Instead of me going off to a party or go on a date with some boy at school, I went to an art show, and I met _him_. He wasn't exactly the type."

"Was he there with another girl, because I only picture snobs and gay men at art shows. Or guys drug their by their wives and girlfriends."

"No. Neither. He was actually there for research for a paper he was writing." Clarke said as she sipped her beer.

* * *

><p><em>Clarke jumped slightly when she heard his voice in her ear. "Now, that wasn't very nice, Princess. I thought that we were having a moment." She glanced over her shoulder, realizing just how close he was to her. She took a step away, staring warily at the champagne flute in his hand that he was holding out to her. "It's not drugged or anything." He promised her. She cocked an eyebrow at him. He rolled his eyes, taking a sip of the drink before taking a sip of his own. "See, I drank from both." <em>

"_Well, now it has germs." She teased him, but she took the champagne anyways. She was going to call a cab to get her home later anyway. Her mom was busy with a work function all evening, and Clarke didn't want to drive and find parking near the gallery._

"_I don't have germs." He said, eyes narrowed. "Anyways, Princess, I've been rather patient and pleasant with you, and I even brought you a glass of champagne. You've been nothing but cruel to me, walking away with barely a goodbye and, now, saying I'm unclean." She rolled her eyes at him._

"_Oh, please, I doubt you're offended for not being called dirty. If anything, you're the type to revel in such a adjective being attributed to you." He smirked at her._

"_Sweetheart, I'm dirty, but I'm not unclean. There's a difference." He stepped closer to her, leaning into her ear. "I can be very, very dirty." She blushed, but schooled her expression as he took a step back. Aside from a slight tinge to her cheeks, she looked perfectly put together and not at all embarrassed by his sleazy comments. She rolled her eyes._

"_One glass a champagne does not earn you the opportunity to show me how dirty you can be." She turned away from him, walking to the next painting on the wall. She heard his deep chuckle behind her, and she let out a breath, because she ordinarily did _not_ say things like that, especially to unknown men who supplied her with drinks. She took a sip of her champagne, her nose twitching at the way the carbonation made it tingle. _

"_Now, Princess," his arm fell around her shoulders, pulling her more closely against his side. "What exactly does one glass of champagne earn me?" She slipped out of his grasp to face him._

"_A few minutes more conversation...that will allow you more opportunities to learn my name." He smirked at her as he sipped his champagne. _

_A few minutes of conversation turned into an hour and a half of them debating everything from the art on the walls, the benefits of doctor assisted suicide versus whether or not it is a form of murder, the wonders (or failings) of _Star Wars_ and _the Lord of the Rings_ movie series, and whether or not First Lady, Michelle Obama, really is a fashion icon for the free world. The conversation was ridiculous at times, serious at others, but the entire time, Clarke felt alive. Perhaps that was the champagne talking, though, because the man beside her been passing her glass after glass as they talked. She was having fun-something she hadn't had in a while. Not since Wells betrayed her, and her failed attempt at a relationship with a classmate named Rich._

_Clarke groaned as she glanced at the time on her phone. "Please tell me that it's not time for Cinderella to head home from the ball," he pouted, raising his hand to push hers down by laying his on top it. The warmth of his hand felt so good, and she smiled at him._

"_Maybe…" She shrugged her shoulders. "I've had fun tonight."_

"_Me, too…" He hesitated again, eyes narrowed. "I just realized I never learned your name. I think I earned that tenfold by now." She nodded her head._

"_I guess I could give you that." She licked her bottom lip, her back going straighter when his eyes latched onto the movement._

"_It's Clarke. My name's Clarke." _

_He smiled, weighing her name on his tongue as he repeated it over and over a total of six times. Each time, his voice became more deep, somewhat more gravely, and she felt like she was slipping into a trance. By the time he finished the last "Clarke," she realized just how close he had gotten to her._

"_I'm Bellamy." He said before he kissed her._

* * *

><p>"We spent the entire night talking about anything and everything, and I finally told him my name." Clarke was saying as she finished off the last of her beer. She shook her head at Monty who came over to refill it for her. "Water, please." He nodded taking her empty glass, and Octavia's, away and started scooping ice into a new glass. "Then, he told me his, and we kissed."<p>

"You kissed? How romantic."

"Yes, well, you know how the saying goes, 'and the rest is history.'"

"What do you mean?"

* * *

><p>"<em>Do you want to get out of here, Clarke?" Bellamy asked Clarke after he broke the kiss. "I know this cute little bar by the campus that doesn't card," he looked her up and down, rather pointedly, but that might be the champagne talking. "Or, we could go somewhere else." He breathed into her ear, brushing his lips over the curve of her cheeks.<em>

"_I don't know…" She gasped when his fingers splayed on her back, pulling her flush against him._

"_Or, there's a diner nearby that serves crappy food…" He planted another kiss along her jaw, and she felt her eyes flutter closed._

"_Bellamy," Clarke bit her bottom lip, trying to will her heart to stop beating so hard. She couldn't open her eyes, and she felt his nose brush against hers. _

"_I really want to bring you back to my place, Princess." His lips brushed against hers again, but he didn't really connect the kiss, nor did he let her. After a few moments of playful, barely-there touches, she finally pulled back and opened her eyes. He was so close. She could see the flecks of gold in the dark chocolate brown. She could see the freckles that covered his skin. There was a small scar above his lip. She nodded her head._

"_Okay," she whispered, and he grinned down at her, pressing his lips to hers once more before he pulled her by the hand out the door._

* * *

><p>"So, was it good sex at least?" Clarke nearly choke on her sip of water as she looked over at the brunette woman sitting beside her. They were such a stark contrast; Octavia was dark haired, with dark eyes (albeit her eyes were a light brownish-hazel shade, but they were still darker than Clarke's). Clarke was pale, with white-blond curls and blue-green eyes. Clarke was pure, angelic, in more ways than one. She might not be a prude, but she certainly was prudish, and she was most decidedly out of practice talking about sex with girlfriends. She hadn't had a girlfriend since high school, and even then, she didn't have a best female friend. This was all so new for her. "What?" Octavia cocked her eyebrow at her, her perfectly manicured with its perfect arch. Fuck, Clarke was <em>jealous<em> of Octavia's life. "It's just a little girl talk. Was it good?"

"I don't know." Clarke blushed.

"You don't know? How do you not know?" Octavia asked her, scandalized. "You'd know if it was good, and you definitely know if it was bad? Was it bad? Was his dick small? Because you can totally make that work if he knows how to use it. Not that that is a problem for Linc, but I've been there." Clarke shook her head at her.

"Um, no. It...he? He wasn't small. Average sized? Maybe? I dunno, Octavia. I dunno, because I wasn't exactly...actually, I'm still not…" She flushed bright red. "What I'm trying to say is that I didn't exactly have that much experience."

"Oh, Clarke," Octavia laid a hand on her shoulder. "Did he say you were bad? Did he make you feel bad in some way?" Clarke shook her head, thinking back to that night.

* * *

><p>"<em>Do you want me to keep going?" Clarke opened up her eyes, and she realized that she had been squeezing them really tightly as Bellamy kissed along her neck. He was shirtless, and his hands were combing over the front of her as they laid on his bed. She was overwhelmed by the smell of <em>him_, because she was lying on his pillows, his blankets tangled underneath her body, and he was pressed against the front of her, practically sucking all other air from her body with his intoxicating kisses. She was drunk off him and his smell and those kisses. She nodded her head, not trusting her voice. He could tell she was nervous. "We don't have to. I like kissing you. I'm fine with just kissing you." He pulled back, cocking his head slightly to the side. "As long as you don't mind if brag to my friends all about the hot blond I brought back to mine." He joked, making her roll her eyes. The tension was easing out of her body, and she found herself relaxing more beneath his frame. He noticed the difference, leaning down to brush his lips against hers. "Is this...are you…?" He trailed off, looking into her eyes after the brief kiss was over. He was asking if he was going to be her first. She shook her head, because he wasn't. She and Rich had had sex a few times during their brief romance._

"_My ex and I…" She gave him a strained smile. "I'm not...I haven't had too many boyfriends." He nodded his head, reaching a hand up to brush his knuckles across her cheek. _

"_I have no idea why…" He whispered, giving her a warm smile. "You're beautiful and funny and sarcastic. Any guy would be lucky to date you." She rolled her eyes at him, leaning up to give him a kiss. "You would've been the girl that I fantasized about when I was kid and discovered girls for the first time." She swallowed, because he obviously was older-twenty-one, maybe? She knew he'd shut this down in a second if he figured out that she was eighteen and still one of those kids that he was talking about. "But you'd have never given me the time of day."_

"_No?"_

"_Nope. I'm the bad boy, Princess. I'm the guy that every girl wants to fuck around with. I'm happy to play my role, but you are the good girl. You date the scholars and maybe an athlete or two, but never the guy who rides motorcycles, smokes pot under the bleachers at school, breaks into the liquor store on a Wednesday night to get wasted with his friends. I fuck around. I don't do girlfriends." He was warning her, she could tell, and she couldn't help but feel bad for him. She knew that she could read him as having something brewing under the surface, and he just admitted to a small amount of it in that moment. He was giving her the chance to back out, _again_. _

"_Don't worry, Bellamy." She whispered. "I'll keep the secret that you're a nice guy." He belly-laughed into her neck, rolling off of her. She thought that they were done then, no longer going to have sex, but she was wrong, because he frowned when she didn't follow him. He pulled her flush against him, half-on his body, half-off. _

"_You control this, Princess. How far we go. When we stop. _If_ we stop."  
><em>

"_Bellamy, I don't…" He leaned up, kissing her, cutting off her fear. She kissed him back, sliding more firmly over his body, feeling him smile into the kiss. His hands traced her back, sliding up and down her frame. She moaned into the kiss, and her moan turned into a groan of frustration every time his fingers grazed the side of her breast or the tops of her butt, but never touched her where she wanted him to touch her. "Bellamy," she pouted, breaking the kiss._

"_What, Princess? What do you want me to do?" _

"_Touch me." _

"_I _am_ touching you."_

"_You're being an asshole."_

"_No, I'm letting you control this, Princess."_

"_I'd have pegged you for the type who likes to be dominant and in control in bed, Bellamy." He grinned at her._

"_Oh, I am, but that doesn't mean that I can give up control every now and again. I think you need to be in control right now. I want to make sure that you really want this."  
><em>

"_I do!" She slid her leg onto his side, straddling him, using his bare chest to push herself up in order to sit on his lower stomach. He smirked at her, raising his hands to tuck them behind his head. He looked so smug, the belt of his pants digging into her ass. She pulled at the zipper on the side of her dress, letting it give way, revealing her light pink strapless bra. With the fitted bodice of her dress now loose and falling free, she brushed her hair out of her face. "Take it off." She said, raising her hands into the air. He pulled his hands from under his head, sitting up. He grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head, leaving her in nothing but a pair of light pink bikini-style panties and her strapless bra._

_Bellamy's eyes painted over Clarke's body, the smirk falling off of his lips, instead a genuine soft smile slipping on in its place. "You're beautiful." He leaned forward, closing the distance between them. The warmth of his bare chest against the skin of her body, the heat of his waist against her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his body, the roughness of his fingers against her back as his hands traced up and down her spine-all of it was heavenly, and she sighed into their kiss. She broke the kiss, pushing him back onto his elbows. She shifted off of her waist, reaching for his belt. He watched her as she unlatched it._

"_Off. I want all of this off." She pouted. He chuckled at her impatience, guiding her off of his lap by her hips. While he set to work on his pants, she reached behind her back to remove her strapless bra. He groaned at the sight of her breasts, and within moments, he pouncing on her again, pressing her back into his pillows. Their chests were bare and flush against one another, hers soft and his hard, the contrast mesmerizing in her mind. She also realized that he'd removed his underwear in his pants, because she could feel his erection lying against her stomach. _

"_Tell me to stop, Princess," he said to her lips, brushing her hair out of her face with one hand, the other reaching between them to play with the top of her panties._

"_Why?" She asked him, and he kissed her more firmly again, using both of his hands to pull the sides of her underwear down she helped him by raising her hips, and soon he was tossing her underwear over his shoulder and pressing his naked form against hers. She moaned at the feel of his heat against hers, no more barriers between their skin. She whimpered at the way he ground his hips against hers, and she knew that she was so wet for him. "Bellamy," she whispered._

"_I'm clean…"_

"_Me, too…" She didn't understand why he was saying it. Of course she had gotten checked out after she and Rich had broken up. They'd always used protection, so there wasn't much for her to worry about anyways. All thoughts slipped from her head, however, because with a single thrust, his body joined hers. She gasped, her eyes shutting tight, and she squeezed her legs around his hips, pulling his body closer. From that moment on, she thought nothing of their bodies repeatedly becoming one._

* * *

><p>"I guess, the sex was good. I just hope that it was good for him, you know? Since I wasn't experienced or anything."<p>

"Hon, let me tell you, from all of the inappropriate shit that I've heard from my brother's mouth throughout the twenty-six years that I've known him, he's always said that if the sex is really _that_ bad, a guy will walk away. There's no faking with them, or, at least, it's really hard to fake, so they don't try to often." She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure he enjoyed it. Guys like virgins and inexperienced girls for a reason. It makes them feel good-something about untouched territory."

"God, that's sick."

"What?" Octavia shook her head. "I wasn't exactly the most experienced girl in the world, you know, before Lincoln. He felt like he was special, and the sex has only gotten better between us. We're super adventurous. Like, this one time-"

"Don't finish that sentence. _Please_." Clarke laughed. "I'm not drunk enough for that."

"Okay, so tell me how you discovered that you were pregnant." Clarke relayed the story to Octavia, how she cried in her mother's arms, and then the two of them had to get their shit together, because Abby's boyfriend, Marcus, showed up with a bottle of wine and a bottle of sparkling cider for Clarke. Abby came right out and told him that if he wanted to be a part of her life, then he'd have to be a part of Clarke's, and that meant that he'd have to be okay with Clarke being pregnant. Marcus took it in stride, saying that things happen, and he'd be honored to support them both in anyway that he could. It was in that moment that Clarke knew that even though she'd always love her dad, her mom's new boyfriend wasn't too bad. Sure, it'd been just over a year since her dad had passed, but if her mom was going to wind up with someone, then Marcus was a pretty good choice. "Did you tell Lottie's dad?"

"No." Clarke said it, and she knew that she shocked Octavia. She winced at the slightly hurt expression that flitted over the woman's face before a mask went back up. "I know that makes me seem like such a jackass, but I didn't exactly know how to go about doing it. I knew just his first name and that he went to an art show to write a paper for his class. I didn't know if he was attending Georgetown or American or George Washington or any of the other schools here in D.C. How was I supposed to find him?"

"Okay, I understand." Octavia nodded, laying a hand over Clarke's. She sounded sympathetic, and Clarke could tell that the older woman wasn't judging her for keeping Lottie a secret since she and the father had parted ways after one night together.

"I feel like such an idiot, though, because he told me he was clean, and I didn't realize what he meant when he was saying it. Like, I thought he was just assuring me that he wasn't going to put me at risk for any diseases, but what he was really saying was that he wasn't putting a condom on."

"Yeah, but you were eighteen. We're all stupid sometimes about birth control. I mean, look at me and Linc. We weren't exactly planning on having Charlie when we did, but things worked out. Linc's actually a year older than my brother, so he was working. We moved in together for my senior year of college, and I was able to finish up the last of my credits, have Charlie, and Linc worked and supported us. We were good."

"That's nice. Lottie and I actually moved to our place only last year. For the first three years of her life, we lived in my old bedroom at my mom's place."

"Wow, that's cool. I'm glad that your mom was there and so supportive."

"Me, too. She's wonderful. I really lucked out with her. Granted, she's pissed at me for fucking up my med school plans, but plans change, right?"

"You wanted to go to med school? Seriously?"

"Yeah, I did. I'm currently working toward my bachelor's for teaching art, which is why I'm working at the preschool. I love it, but I don't know if I will want to teach forever. A part of me still wants to help people, but I love doing art with the kids." Clarke shrugged. "So, I've been looking into ways that I could do both, and I'm planning on getting my master's in creative arts therapy after I'm done with my undergraduate degree. I'm going to be an art therapist."

"Holy shit, really?"

"Yeah, I mean, I can still help people, but I get to do art at the same time. I don't know how I didn't think of it before, but I always wanted to be a doctor like my mom."

"Maybe you'll be a psychologist one day. That's still a doctor."

"Yeah, I could definitely do that." Clarke grinned at Octavia. "I'm glad that you brought me out tonight. It's been fun."

"I'm glad that you came, too. I'm glad that we can be friends." The two girls hugged, and Clarke finally felt like her life was falling together. Her plans might have changed five years before, when she was scared eighteen year old staring at the positive pregnancy test in her hands. But, that pregnancy test brought her the most amazing daughter, a wonderful job, a great plan for the future (one that might actually be more congruent with who she is than the medicine ever was), and a wonderful new friend. Now, all she needed was a great guy, and she'd have everything she could possibly need.


	4. Chapter 4

Second Chances

Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything familiar.**

**Author's Note: The closest I could get to Spacewalker is to call Finn Starbucks. Sorry, guys. I just can't figure out a way to logically get people to call Finn Spacewalker and still include him in this story. The nickname will be used in the next chapter. I'm also going to dive into Bellamy's head during this chapter, too. Let me know what you think!**

* * *

><p>Clarke felt weird. Today, Octavia decided that Clarke was going to get out on her own and have a Saturday for herself. She had said this when she was pounding on the door to Clarke's apartment an hour before. It was barely seven-thirty, and there was Octavia, dressed in a pair of jeans, knee-high black fuzzy boots, and black sweater, with her gray winter coat open on top. She had a knitted black beanie on her head, her long brown hair falling over her shoulders in loose waves. She looked stunning, so perfectly put together yet so natural at the same time. She grinned at Clarke, waving black gloves in one hand as she pushed past her.<p>

"Um, Tavi? What are you doing here?" The two of them had gotten extremely close over the last three weeks, but Clarke wasn't expecting the older woman to show up at her apartment at seven-thirty in the morning on a Saturday in late January.

"I'm giving you a day off. I want you to get out there, get a mani-pedi, a haircut, a massage, whatever. Spend the day in your pee-jays. I don't care. Do what you want, but I'm giving you a child-free day. Plus, it's actually cheaper for me and Lincoln to have two kids with us today than just the one, so I'm borrowing your kid."

"Wait, what?" Clarke pressed a hand to her head. She was still half-asleep and had no idea what the hell was going on.

"Linc and I are taking Charlie to the Harbor to see Frosty the Snowman and all of the other ice sculptures. Then, we're getting lunch, and then we're headed to the Air and Space Museum, and I thought that it would probably fun for him if Lottie came, too. Plus, there's a ticket special going on, and it's cheaper to buy four tickets with two kids than it is to buy three with just one." Clarke shook her head, smiling at her friend.

"So, you're here this early why? And, you couldn't have called? Or, planned this with me in advance?"

"Well, Linc and I have been up since four this morning, because, well, my brother had some company over. I'm so relieved that we're in the final stretch of the house-buying, because I _can't_ live at my brother's anymore. I mean, I love him to death, but he's a single guy in his twenties who owns his own home. The three of us in the cramped second bedroom of his duplex isn't working anymore. I feel bad for B, too, because he's trying to be nice by letting us stay, but he's got..._needs_."

"Gross." Clarke grimaced, making Octavia nod and throw her hands up in there.

"Besides, if I hear him say to me one more time," she paused, furrowing her brow, hunching her shoulders, and deepening her voice in an imitation of her brother, Clarke assumed, "'O, stop trying to have sex with my friend on my couch,' I might scream."

"Well, I don't blame him for that."

"Dude, don't take his side! We weren't even doing anything. We were sitting in the dark, watching a movie, leaning against each other. Our son was passed out on the other couch. Linc and I haven't had sex in two months, because we're staying at B's. Like, why on earth would I want to have sex when my son is in the same room."

"Two months? Really? You must be dying."

"I am! Seriously, have you _seen_ my husband?"

"Yes, I have. He's very attractive."

"Understatement of the century, Clarke."

"Well, I didn't know if you and I were good enough friends for me to say I'd fuck your husband in front of you yet." Octavia burst out laughing, throwing her arms around Clarke.

"I love you. Seriously. Best friends for life, Clarke. Best friends for life." Clarke rolled her eyes, but hugged her friend back. Octavia pulled out of the hug and studied Clarke's appearance. "Oh, shit. I just realized how early it is." She took in Clarke's striped pajama bottoms, messy bedhead hair, and the tank top with a shelf-bra with a loose slip-on sweater that Clarke had just thrown on when she heard someone banging on the door. "Well, can I steal your kid for breakfast and a day of fun?"

"Yeah, sure. Let me go wake her. She's not exactly a morning person."

"Ugh, she sounds like my brother." Octavia said with an eye roll. "I'll make you some coffee, okay?"

"Thanks. I, on the other hand, am a morning person, so I'd never be able to go back to sleep now. A little coffee, and I'll be good to go until she comes back home and passes out at seven. Do you all want to come over for dinner tonight? It's the least that I could do after you borrowing my kid for the day."

"Aww, that'd be nice."

Clarke made her way into her daughter's room, crouching beside the bed. This time, Lottie was gripping her Princess Belle sheets in her fists, her face buried into her pillow. Clarke chuckled slightly as she began running her fingers through Lottie's hair. "Miss Lottie, it's time to get up."

"No, Mommy! No." Lottie whined, digging herself more firmly into her bed. Clarke clicked her tongue at her daughter, because the attitude was something unfamiliar to her. Each and every day, Lottie was becoming more and more like the stranger she'd met five years before. She pursed her lips at the thought, because one of these days, Lottie was going to start asking questions about her dad.

"Hey, Sweets, I don't like it when you talk to Mommy like that." She frowned, running her nails along the little girl's back in soothing circles. "It's time to get up. Octavia's here. She's going to bring you and Charlie and Charlie's daddy, Lincoln to go see Frosty the Snowman. Doesn't that sound like fun." The little girl turned her head to face her mom, opening one eye to study her, the other squished up tight as she pretended to be semi-asleep. Clarke kept the laugh buried deep inside. Her daughter's eyes were especially brown that morning, the sleep still slipping from them as she blinked at her mother.

"Frosty?"

"Mmhmm, and you're also going to go the the Air and Space Museum. Doesn't that sound like a lot of fun?" Lottie shrugged her shoulder at Clarke. "But you won't be able to go unless you get up and get ready. The four of you are going to get breakfast, so it's time to go."

"Can I get waffles with ice cream and whif cream and stawberries?" Lottie lifted her head up completely, making her mother cock an eyebrow at her.

"Maybe. You'll have to check with Octavia and Lincoln. I think that waffles and strawberries sounds great. Maybe we can save the ice cream and whip cream for dessert tonight. What do you think? Maybe sundaes when you get back from hanging out with Charlie?"

"Otay, Mommy, but I don't like waking up." Clarke laughed, fluffing Lottie's hair.

"I know, baby girl. I know. Let's pick out your outfit and get you into the bathroom so that you can get going." The little girl dove into Clarke's arms, making her fall backwards onto her back. Clarke chuckled, pressing kisses to Lottie's cheeks, smiling at the giggles erupting from the little girl. After a few moments of hugging and kissing each other, Clarke and Lottie stood up.

"That was adorable." Octavia said from the doorway. Lottie looked up at her and smiled, waving at the brunette woman.

"Hi, Otayvia."

"Hello, Lottie." Clarke start pulling out clothing for her daughter. She grabbed her jeans and a big fuzzy red sweater.

"What do you think?" Lottie cocked her head to the side before nodding her head.

"God, she's got such personality!" Octavia chuckled. "You know, watching you try and get her up reminded me of my mom trying to get me and B up in the morning. I've grown out of it, thankfully, but my brother certainly hasn't."

"Yeah, we're all early-risers on the Griffin side, so this has got to be a D-A-D-D-Y thing." Octavia nodded. Clarke quickly dressed Lottie and got her in the bathroom to go potty, brush her teeth, and wash her face.

By eight-fifteen, Lottie and Octavia were gone, and Clarke was on her own, having no idea what to do with herself. She drank her coffee, watched the news, and flipped through the last three month's worth of _Cosmo_, but she was bored out of her mind. She decided that today she would clean the apartment, go shopping for some new underwear-she hadn't done that in a while, and now her undergarments were practically threadbare-and pick up a present for her mom's birthday.

* * *

><p>By noon, Clarke was starving and in need of some people stimulation. She had finished cleaning the apartment, and it was time for her to head out and go shopping. Octavia had been sending her regular updates on the kids' day with cute pictures of the four of them. She had sent an LOL text when someone had mistaken her as Lottie's mom, and Clarke agreed that with her daughter's dark hair and eyes, she could blend in well with their little family. She hit the mall, getting a present for Abby squared away. She then went into Victoria's Secret to get some new bras and underwear. After that, she decided to just walk around the mall, people watching. She was bored, and she had no idea what a normal twenty-three year old woman would be doing on a Saturday afternoon when she <em>didn't<em> have a kid. She missed her kid.

She decided to head back home, stopping at Starbucks on her way to the apartment. As she got in line, she glanced around the coffee shop. There were people lazily talking to friends, there were people on cell phones or computers or tablets, and there were people like her, standing in line, waiting for their next fix. She yawned discreetly into the crook of her elbow. "One of those days?" She jumped, glancing over her shoulder at an attractive man with chin-length brown hair and dark brown eyes. She blushed, tucking her chin slightly to give him a head nod to indicate that she agreed. "I'm Finn." He extended her hand, and she smiled, shaking it.

"Clarke."

"Nice to meet you, Clarke. I love your name. It's unique."

"Um, thank you."

"Yeah, it's beautiful...just like you." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Too far?"

"Just a little." He nodded his head, raising his hands at her in mock-apology.

"Let me start over?" He pouted at her. She rolled her eyes, nodding her head. "Okay, cool. Hello, My name is Finn. I'm a sagittarius who loves long walks on the beach, bubble baths, and smooth jazz."

Clarke chuckled, scrunching her nose. "My name is Clarke, and I'm an aquarius who has a four year old daughter." Finn's jaw dropped open slightly before he smiled and nodded at her. He opened his mouth and shut it once again within a few seconds not once, not twice, but _three_ times before he nodded again.

"I feel like you said that purposely to shock me, which it did, because you look about a year or so younger than me anyways, but it didn't scare me away, which is what you were expecting, right?" She bit her bottom lip, not daring to speak, because it was true. She was saying something outrageous (but true) to see if he was going to bail, but he didn't.

"Her name is Lottie."

"Lottie." He nodded his head again. "You said she's four? Wow. That's pretty crazy. It's a fun age, huh? My cousin's got a five year old. They have personality from day one, but they really come into it around three, right?" She nodded her head.

"Yeah, she's got an attitude already. I can't imagine how crazy it will be when she's a teenager." Clarke widened her eyes and shook her head at the thought. "I'm shaking just thinking about it, but she's a sweetheart."

"I'm guessing she has her daddy wrapped around her finger...like her mom, I'm sure." She heard what he was asking, and she paused before responding.

"Her dad...he's not involved. He and I didn't...it was a one time thing five years ago, and now I have Lottie. I wouldn't change it for all the world."

"No dad...what about a step-dad or Mommy's friend?" Apparently, she didn't give him enough. He really wanted to make sure that she was unattached. Was he interested? Like, really, truly interested in her? Even with her daughter? It's one thing to say that you're not running when there is a kid being discussed in the moment, but he was really trying to find out more about her.

"No step-dad or Mom's boyfriend or anything like that," she said honestly. He smiled wider at her, taking a step closer.

"Would I be able to call you sometime? Maybe we could get a drink?" She bit her lip, studying the man in front of her.

"I'd like that…"

* * *

><p>Bellamy Blake stumbled out of his bedroom. The sun was bright and shining in his windows, waking him up. His head felt cottony, and his mouth felt like he'd spent the night gnawing on some, too. He was hungover, but thankfully, he wasn't going to puke. He reached an arm out, expecting the laith form of a busty brunette to be lying beside him, but he came up empty. So, he didn't need to kick her out, all the while feigning interest in seeing her again? What a relief. He had practically fallen out of bed, yanked on some boxers so that he didn't scar his three-year-old nephew, and made his way out of his bedroom to make some coffee to kill the hangover.<p>

Speaking of three-year-old Charlie, Bellamy cursed a string of words that would make a sailor blush when he stepped on an errant lego in the hallway, making him punch the wall, because it fucking _hurt_. He kicked the lego out of the way, hearing as it clicked as it bounced through the posts of the railway, hit the stairs a few times, and fell out of sight. Well, shit, it's probably going to be Charlie's _favorite_ lego that he just has to have, and Bellamy's going to get a loud sigh from his best-friend-turned-brother-in-law, a wobbling bottom lip and tear-stained cheeks from Charlie, and an irritated scoff from his baby sister. He may as well go searching for the damn thing now.

It wasn't that Bellamy didn't love his sister, or Lincoln, or, hell, even Charlie, because he _did_. He and O were as thick as thieves since the day she was born, and he was never one of those older brothers who complained about their annoying little sisters buzzing around them like a gnat whenever his friends came over. He never had a problem with her hanging out around his friends either-never expected there to be an issue, but then his older frat-brother started hooking up with her during her freshman, his junior, and Linc's senior years of college. He could've killed Lincoln the night that he found out O was pregnant, but Linc held him down and told him that he wanted to marry his sister, and he...okay, so he wasn't exactly happy about it, but he grew to accept it. O and Linc were good together now, but it took him a bit to get used to it. Then, his sister had barely graduated before she and Lincoln had took his baby nephew and disappeared down south for three years to help Lincoln's mom. Sure, he was there for them both, and he visited them often, but it wasn't the same. He finally got them back, which he was happy about.

Except he didn't realize that getting them back meant that for two and a half months, they'd be in his house, in the room right next door. He'd been okay with it for the first week. Hell, he was fine with it for the first month, but then the first month turned into the second month, and now he was dying. He sucked it up, because he loved the three of them, but it reached the point where he didn't dare bring women home or he felt like he was walking on eggshells in his own damn house. The night before, he fucked up and got drunk at JM's before picking up some barely-legal twenty-one year old and brought her back to his place-out of habit. She wasn't stupid enough to think that they're going to be anything more than a good fuck for the night, and he didn't need to kick her out this morning, but he figured that O was probably livid with him. Then, he was probably going to get shit from Linc, too.

He stumbled downstairs to the kitchen, and it was then that he realized that the house was empty. He was alone-no Charlie laughing in the living room as he watched some cartoon on the TV, no Octavia making a huge mess of his kitchen as she _made_ everyone dinner (usually it wasn't edible and they'd order Chinese or Thai or pizza), or Linc arguing with someone on the phone about his job. He was looking forward to getting his place back, but his first taste of it in two and a half months was actually strange...and too quiet. He didn't know where his phone was, so he grabbed the landline that came with the duplex when he bought it, but he hardly used. He dialed O's number, preparing the coffee with the phone tucked between his cheek and his shoulder.

"Hello?"

"Where you at?" He said gruffly into the phone, slamming the coffeemaker shut and pressing the button harder than was necessary. He heard his sister scoff into the phone.

"Hello, dear Bellamy. I love you with all of my heart, big brother."

"Hi. Where. Are. You?"

"Is your guest gone? Or, should I be worried about my son coming across some floozy when we get home later?"

"Stop being a bitch." He said, grabbing a mug after the coffee maker beeped at him, indicating that the coffee was finished. He grabbed the carafe and poured it into the mug, grabbing the sugar and dumping a ton into the mug, stirring it.

"Screw you, Bellamy."

"You couldn't leave a note, though?"

"I'm sorry, you were busy f-u-c-k-i-n-g some random right next door to me and my husband and my son."

"I'm sorry, okay? I just...I'm twenty-eight, and I just wanted to...I'm single, O."

"I know! I feel like crap, because we're taking over your house, but I'm also pissed at you."

"I fucked up, okay?"

"Yeah, you did, but it's your house. I'm sorry that I'm being a pain in the rear."

"God, Mommy-O is fucking weird."

"I know. I want to curse so badly, but Miss Lacey was so pee-ohed when she heard Charlie say s-h-i-t in school."

"Where're you guys at?"

"Linc and I took Charlie and his friend, Lottie, from school to Harbor and the Air and Space Museum for the day, giving Lottie's mom a break."

"When will you be home?" He winces slightly when he says it, because it's true. It's their home now, even if it doesn't work for the four of them to fit in two bedrooms.

"We're having dinner with Lottie's mom tonight, but definitely before Charlie's bed time. Oh, and I have to show you pictures on my phone of the house. It's perfect, and the last little touches are being made-the painting and the new floors and the like. I'm so excited to move it. _Four _bedrooms, Bells."

"That's awesome. Which one's mine?" He's half-joking, but his duplex is going to feel super big, empty, and strange without the three of them there anymore.

"Oh, shut it. You're going to be happy to be rid of us. You can go back to the single, almost-thirty manchild that you are." He scoffed at her, rolling his eyes as he sipped his coffee. "Have you ever thought about settling down, big brother? I mean, you're kind of attractive, I guess, and you can be a nice guy when you want to be."

"Thanks, O. Feeling the love." He sighed. "I'm not the settling down type. You know that. I know that. I like to fuck women and be generally piggish, as you like to describe me as. I'm content with my life as a bachelor."

"I hate you. I seriously hate you. I want nieces and nephews and a sister-in-law that I either love or love to hate. You're breaking my heart here, big brother. Shoot, I gotta go. It's time to check in with Lottie's mom." After their goodbyes and love yous, the Blake siblings hung up their phones.

Bellamy sighed, walking into the living room and grabbed the remote. He dropped onto the couch, sipping his coffee as he turned on the TV. He turned on the TV, groaning at the marathon of Disney cartoons that appeared to be playing (at least according to the commercial that said the marathon would return after the commercial break). He pushed the button for the DVR and started scrolling through the recorded shows. He groaned, because there were quite a few _Real Housewives_ horseshit on there. He sighed, switching over to see what kind of offerings he could find onDemand. In the end, there was nothing that he was interested in seeing or hadn't already seen. He contemplated putting on _The Hunger Games_, because the chick who played Katniss was pretty hot, but figured his man-cred would be diminished if his sister somehow caught him. He sighed, shrugging, because his sister wasn't coming home for another few hours, so he could get in a decent porn watching experience. He settled for one that featured two busty blonds going at it and leaned back against the chair, enjoying the show.


End file.
